


There, there

by Jepshe



Series: Just stay safe [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Miscarriage, WW2, Wartime Romance, ww2 London
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25589086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jepshe/pseuds/Jepshe
Summary: Five weeks. That's how long it has been since Gendry's last letter arrived. It isn't unusual for the mail to take it's time and some letters get lost, but five weeks is a lot. And it’s not like him. Arya knows he has tried to write her at least once a week, even if it were only a few lines and no matter if he hadn't gotten any letters from her. He always finds a moment to write.For the first time she wishes she had accepted his stupid proposal — any one of the various proposals he has uttered during the years — because he had been right, if she were his wife they would at least send her a word if he was hurt or lost or — no, she forbids herself from thinking about it.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: Just stay safe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1844116
Comments: 36
Kudos: 142





	There, there

**Author's Note:**

> As was promised, here's some more wartime romance and sadness - and kind of a lot of the last one in this oneshot. This story takes place a few years after the first one.
> 
> Thanks for all of the nice feedback on the first part of this series! When I wrote these stories I had no clue if anyone would be interested in a ww2 Gendrya story and it was such a nice surprise to see people actually read it.
> 
> The third oneshot in this series will be a Lyckon story, so sorry, there's no more of Gendrya in this universe, at least for the moment.
> 
> The title of this part is from the song by Radiohead.

Five weeks. That's how long it has been since Gendry's last letter arrived, only two weeks after he had last left London. It isn't unusual for the mail to take it's time and some letters get lost, but five weeks is a lot. And it’s not like him. Arya knows he has tried to write her at least once a week, even if it were only a few lines and no matter if he hadn't gotten any letters from her. He always finds a moment to write.

For the first time she wishes she had accepted his stupid proposal — any one of the various proposals he has uttered during the years — because he had been right, if she were his wife they would at least send her a word if he was hurt or lost or — no, she forbids herself from thinking about it. 

But she does think about it, oh how she thinks about it while she lies in her bed unable to sleep. 

The other dread comes soon after the first one and for that she curses herself even more. 

She scolds herself for not noticing sooner, but at the same time, if she's being honest with herself, she thinks she _had_ noticed it sooner. She had just pushed it down, told herself it was nothing, fooling herself into believing troubles go away if you act like they don't exist. 

Of course they don't go away and as she once again finds herself feeling the same nausea in the afternoon after her second cup of coffee for they day she can't pretend it's just because of something she ate or that she must have caught a bug. She can't pretend she's just tired from work or that the prickling in her stomach is just that it's that time of the month, not when _that_ hasn't happened in a longer time than she'd like to admit. 

Her legs feel unsteady as she walks down the stairs and lingers in the doorway.

"Sansa." 

She can hear the unsureness in her own voice and of course Sansa can too. 

Her sister sits up straight, putting aside her needlework and looking at her. 

"What's wrong?" 

Arya takes a deep breath, willing herself to say the words out loud. 

"I think I might be pregnant." 

Sansa's whole posture stills for a second as she stares at her, blinking. Then she nods, silently, her brain working a mile a minute as is evident by the look in her face. 

"You think?" Sansa questions.

"I'm pretty sure of it."

Sansa nods again.

"Right."

Arya walks closer, sitting down next to her sister.

"What's that?" she points at some sheets of paper on the coffee table. 

Sansa blinks at her bewildered for a moment, like she has forgotten everything that existed before Arya walked down the stairs. 

"Oh. Rickon's letter. It came in the evening mail."

Arya snaps the papers in her hand, quickly eying through the few lines, heart beating nervously while she's simultaneously relieved that there is a letter to read — the same feeling she always has when there's a letter from any of the boys. 

Their baby brother is not much of a writer, always so busy. His letters are short and have become even rarer after he got sent to Africa more than two years ago. And where is he now, somewhere in the Mediterranean? Arya checks the top of the letter. Italy. 

She knows their parents haven't received much more letters from Rickon, sometimes it's been months without a single word. She wonders if that little friend of his gets more mail from him, if he gives her any more words. Arya doesn't even know where she is now, that little girl with long brown hair Rickon used to mention with a smile on his face. Maybe her brother has finally found the courage to tell his beautiful Lyanna he loves her — she might be his fiancée by now for all they know. 

Fleetingly she wonders, what the baby of the family will be when he finally comes back (if he comes back, whispers the fear in her head). Will he still be the wild child he always was, with that loud laughter or has the war taken all that away? And for not the first time she feels the irony of being happy Bran at least can't go off fighting in a wheelchair. 

Sansa stops her ponderings with the question she knew was coming.

"What are you going to do about it?"

She sighs.

"What can I do? What does one do with a child?"

"Arya."

Her sister looks at her with stern face so reminiscent of their mother that Arya feels forced to quit the sarcastic approach. 

"It's Gendry's," she says like it's an explanation. Sansa seems to understand though as her expression turns into that of determination.

"Right. I think we should make you a doctor's appointment then."

Sansa reaches for Arya's hand, squeezing it.

"We'll figure it out," she promises. Her practical sister who, Arya knows, would have once thought something like this was a shame nothing could render. But here she is now, calm and reassuring. Once, Arya is sure, Sansa would have yelled at her for ruining the family name and putting her in a bad light too, but now she is sitting here, telling her of a good doctor and that she'll make the reservation herself if Arya lets her.

"Just don't tell mother and father yet," Arya asks and Sansa promises she's not going to.

They sit there for a long time, both quiet, not knowing what to say before Sansa gets up and tells her she'll make them some sandwiches.

"Arya," she says from the doorway, "We'll figure his out."

And Arya hangs on to those words, repeating them to herself, wrapping her arms around her middle, thinking that maybe, just maybe this will all turn out fine in the end. Sure, her parents won't like any part of this situation she has gotten herself into. She’s not sure if she can stay living here, with Sansa, in a house their father owns, and everyone they know will surely be gossiping about this for months, but maybe none of that matters. Maybe she can just have this one piece of love and happiness and it will all be alright. 

The appointment is in six days but by then it feels pointless. Sansa forces her to go anyways. It doesn't matter what Sansa or the doctor say, she'll blame herself, she thinks she always will. 

It's stupid really, she tells Sansa as much. It wasn't planned, it wasn't something she had hoped for, so why does it feel so bad when the bleeding starts?

She had worked too hard for sure, too much heavy lifting, not enough rest. It must have been that.

She wonders if a part of her did it on purpose, the part that had been scared, the part that didn't even want to admit it was true. She could have rested, Sansa had told her to rest when she had started to get dizzy every time she got up too fast from her bed or from a chair. She had not listened, she had not refused any tasks at work. She had climbed a ladder if she needed to, she had carried everything she had to, she hadn't taken more time to rest than she had before. So surely it was her own doing then.

The doctor says there's nothing he can do, that she just needs to rest and let all the blood come out and come again for a check up in a week.

She goes to work the next day, despite of what Sansa says. 

It was nothing, she tells herself. _It was barely ever there, I never had it, I didn't lose a thing._

Sansa is waiting for her when she comes home from work two days later. The way she presses her palms together tells Arya her sister is anxious before either of them have had time to say more than a simple 'hello'. 

"Davos called," Sansa tells her and all she can think is that Davos is Gendry's next of kin as far as the army is concerned.

"I told him you were at work and he promised to call again at seven."

There's no air in the room, nothing left to breath, and it's starting to spin, but Sansa's words cut through it all. 

"He's not dead," Sansa says, "They got a letter but it wasn't that. Davos will tell you all about it but I had to ask." 

The room is still again and she looks at her sister, speechless. 

"Sorry I dropped that on you like this. I'll make us some tea while we wait."

It's four past seven when the telephone rings. The tea has gone cold but Arya is still holding the cup and it nearly shatters as she almost throws it to the tray. But she doesn't care to look if she's spilled some, just hurries to the hallway. 

"We got a letter," Davos tells her, "Says he's been hurt."

"Hurt? Hurt how?"

"There's not much more here, I'm sorry to tell you. Just that he's been hurt while being transported and is getting treated and they'll provide further information when they can."

She breathes deep and Davos must hear her through the line because he continues,

"I'm sorry to give you news like this but he made me promise I'd give you a call if we got a letter."

"So he's alive then?" she asks, knowing how stupid she must sound, how desperate. But she's past caring.

"That's the word we got."

"But you haven't heard anything from himself." 

"To tell you the truth I thought if he'd had called or written anyone it would have been you."

She can't stop the sob from escaping her at the words. She heard Davos clearing his throat.

"You alright there, lass?"

"Yes, thanks for calling," she manages before putting down the receiver. 

For once she's glad Sansa has stayed near while she's on talking on the phone, because if she wouldn't be there to take a hold of her arm she'd be sliding down to the floor instead of the chair her sister guides her to.

She doesn't go to work the next day. She doesn't eat either. But the day after that she gets up from bed, puts on her work clothes and goes.

There's a war going on, her brothers are fighting, her friends. Sansa's doing her charity work. There's so much to be done, no excuse for her to do nothing.

  
  
  


They hear of the troops advancing in every front, of victories, bigger and smaller ones. It feels like they might finally be nearing the end of this all. 

But Arya can't feel anything but anxious. Once again she scolds herself for not training to be a nurse when she had the chance. Then at least she'd be able to be somewhere out there right now, and not stuck here in London, waiting. She could be close to the front, close to Jon maybe. It's too late now though, too late to train. 

At least during the Blitz she felt like she was doing something truly useful, when she was pulling people out of the collapsed buildings night after night, putting down fires, trying to save something or someone. Now it doesn't matter how much she works or how important for the cause the things she does are deemed. It feels like she's doing nothing, just waiting like a coward while others are fighting.

"We each have our part to play," Sansa has told her so many times she’s lost count long ago but it doesn't make it any better.

None of it matters anymore. She hasn't heard about any of them in ages, she doesn't have a clue where Jon is and Rickon's letter had already been old when they got it. They might all be gone she thinks, _I'm as good as gone too_.

The days go by and the weeks too but it’s all just one dull blur, one endless stream that makes her feel numb and worn out.

The war might be coming to an end but what does it matter if there's nothing to look forward to after it? 

  
  
  


She's coming home from work, tired and irritated because of course it rained again when she ran to get her lunch and her socks still feel damp in her shoes. She just wants to get to the armchair, under a blanket, with a cup of tea and her book — or make it one of Sansa's romance novels because she needs something light tonight and definitely nothing about the news so she won't even open the radio. 

But when she walks around the corner, stepping to their street, looking down it, past the two houses before theirs, she sees a figure sitting on the front steps of their house. 

A figure in grey. 

But — no, it's not possible, it can't be, it simply can't — she starts walking faster. As if hearing her steps, the figure stands up, tall, and she sees the dark hair clearly now, and she can see his face as he steps down the stairs. She doesn't really notice it but she's running now, running past their neighbour’s house, through their gate. 

Gendry meets her there, his arms open and wrapping around her immediately as she collides into him. 

She's sobbing uncontrollably and he's kissing her hair and holding her tight and mumbling something she doesn't quite hear but she doesn't care one bit. 

"You're here," is all she manages and she hears him chuckle as he lets go of her a bit, enough to lean back so he can take her face in his hands and look at her when she finally releases the death grip she has had on him. 

"I'm here." 

There are tears in his eyes too when she looks up at him, moving her arms from around his waist to his neck, pulling him down so she can kiss him. She presses her lips hard against his, not moving much because she doesn't feel like she can and besides, this isn't so much about kissing him than it is about feeling him, all of him, alive and close to her. 

"You should have let us know, I would have made sure to come to the station, and Sansa could have cooked."

She's berating him, and he just smiles at her. 

"Didn't know I was coming today before I was already on the train."

Faintly she hears a door creaking and closing, and then a voice that sounds a bit too chipper when it calls,

"Hello, miss Stark!" 

She curses silently, turning towards their neighbour with the most polite smile she can muster. 

"Oh, hello!" she nods with a forced politeness. Of course it had to be the most nosy of the neighbours to witness this moment, the show of feelings and a public affection the lady undoubtedly finds inappropriate. 

She fumbles for her keys, opening the front door with shaking hands, pulling Gendry in with her, away from the prying eyes.

It's odd, having him here so suddenly. He seems changed, quieter, if that's possible since he was never much of a talker. Maybe it's all in her head, maybe she's just imagining it, maybe he's just tired after the train ride. And they're all like this, whenever they come back from there, awkward in their actions, looking around familiar places like they are strange to them, falling quiet and getting lost in their own thoughts every so often. 

"It was a chaos there, all of it and it was impossible to ask anyone to write the letter for me once I came to my senses," he explains. He had hurt his hand but it was better already, healing.

"I don't even know how long it was before we got to the coast and then I got the fever and that took a couple of weeks or so," he looks so apologetic as he tells her the story, as if he really thinks he needs to ask her to forgive him for not writing. From what he's telling her it seems mail was the least of the worries.

"Davos got a letter telling you were hurt, he called me," she tells him, "We just didn't know what it was."

He sighs.

"I'm sorry, Arya, I wanted to write to you but…"

She stops him, shaking her head. 

"You couldn't, I know. It's okay. You're here now, we were just worried."

She knows 'just worried' doesn't come even close to explaining it all, but she won't say that to him, not now at least. He's had enough to deal with, her problems don't need to be added up to all of it.

"You should call Davos now. He's waiting for a word from you."

Gendry nods, glancing at the telephone as if he's asking for permission.

"Go ahead," Arya encourages him, "I'll go change into something more comfortable and give you privacy. Talk as long as you like."

She leaves him standing in the hallway. When she reaches her room she can hear him start talking.

"Yes it's really me," she hears him saying.

The tears come so fast, all the emotions rushing up at once, she needs to bite her lip so she won't cry out loud. She leans her forehead against the wall near her doorway, listening to his mumbled words from downstairs.

He's back, he's back, he's back.

He's safe.

Arya washes her face, scrubbing on it to make the redness in her eyes stand out less. She brushes her hair and takes a deep breath in front of the mirror, gathering herself up before descending the stairs.

Gendry is standing in front of the fireplace, tracing his finger along a frame of a photo of Winterfell manor and her parents standing in front of it.

"When was the last time you were up North?" he asks as she steps closer to him.

"In July. Me and Sansa went for a week then."

He looks like he's about to say something but a crack from the front of the house stops him.

They hear the front door opening and closing and Sansa comes in, taking in the scene with wide eyes and an "oh my god" spoken so fast the words collide into one another. Arya doesn't know which one of the three of them is the most surprised when her her sister wraps pulls Gendry into a hug in a spontaneous act that is very uncharacteristic of her. Sansa herself must realise that since she awkwardly uses her normal excuse of making tea as soon as she lets go of Gendry, ordering Arya to pour them drinks as she hurries out of the room.

The domesticity of it all feels strange. The three of them sitting there, having drinks, sipping tea, like it's just a normal evening while Arya has a hard time sitting still. She can't stop looking at him, can't stop drinking him in. She can't stop touching him either, needs to have her hand on his forearm or on his thigh all the time, needs to run her fingers through his hair as if it needs to be brushed back every few minutes when in reality it's too short to get in his face.

But he's watching her too, she can see that. He looks over at Sansa politely when he speaks at her or when Sansa asks him something, he is annoyingly good at remembering all his courtesies and making small talk, asking Sansa about her charities and nodding as she explains all about it. But his eyes keep finding hers, his fingers brush her thigh when he shifts his position slightly, he smiles at her when she talks to Sansa, in a way that almost makes her forget what she was saying.

It's barely nine o'clock when he tries to hide a yawn behind his hand and Arya stands up from the sofa, holding out her hand to him.

"Come on, you're tired. Let's get you to bed." 

By now Gendry is used to Sansa's quiet acceptance of him staying at their house and doesn't bother asking if he should at least pretend to be sleeping in the spare room. And Sansa doesn't bother pretending either, she doesn’t even try to make it seem like someone has slept there for when the maid comes over the next day. She just wishes them a good night's sleep when they start climbing the stairs up to Arya's room.

Gendry kisses her and he's so warm and firm like he always is, filling her with the feeling of being safe, filling her with love. And she's missed him so incredibly much during these months, but now she just can't —

"Gendry, we shouldn't," she mutters as she pushes him gently off her.

He looks at her questioningly, as a worried expression fills his face.

"If you don't want me anymore…" 

"No, Gendry." 

Her hand on his arm stops him from getting up. 

"Of course I still want you, it's not that at all."

She doesn't want to say it. It will make him feel bad and she doesn't want that — but she knows she can't keep it from him. 

"The last time you were here," Arya starts, placing her words carefully, "I got pregnant." 

Gendry stiffens, his brow furrowing as his eyes move from her face to her middle and back again.

"But it's been more than four months, you're not… I mean, I didn't realise…" 

He trails off, looking confused.

"No, I'm not pregnant anymore," she tells him quietly, watching as various emotions flash through his face but the confusion doesn't go away.

She sighs, reaching for his hand. He lets her take it and he squeezes hers, and that is all it takes for the tears to come out.

Of course he is being like this, of course he is offering her comfort and letting her know he's there for her even when he doesn't even know what's going on.

"It didn't last," she simply says.

"It was my own fault, really. Sansa told me I should ease up on the work, but I didn't listen to her, I just kept going. And then one day it just, well, it just didn't stick."

His face if full of worry, and it just makes the tears flow more. 

"I didn't even realise it for so long, I kept telling myself I was feeling weird because I was tired and I wasn't eating well. And then I thought it might be, but I'd just wait and see…"

Her throat feels so tight, like she can't breath, but she swallows down the lump and forces herself to continue. 

"I didn't get any letters from you and we thought you might be… Well, you know. So I thought maybe if you were gone I'd at least have the baby and maybe they might look like you and, just — " she shrugs.

"It was stupid, really, I know."

His hand comes to hold the back of her head, sliding to her neck.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here," he whispers.

"I went to see a doctor and he said it might be better this way, that I would have been stuck with a child and with no husband and not even really a widow, and I know so many people think like that but…"

"I know, Arya," he whispers. 

"I didn't even really want a child," she mutters, not sure if it’s true or not.

Gendry holds her close to him, stroking her back until she falls asleep.

  
  


In the morning Arya watches him, over the rim of her cup of coffee. He still looks tired and she thinks he will for a while, like no amount of sleep is going to be enough to take the tiredness off his features. 

He's seen too much, all of them have. It's not just her that feels empty. 

"We should go North," she says abruptly. 

Gendry meets her eyes, his tired face surprised.

"To Winterfell. And to see Davos."

"To Winterfell?" he repeats and she nods.

She sees him process it, his exhausted brain trying to come up with an answer.

"Don't you have work here?" he asks, but she brushes it off.

"I can quit. And you said the army won't want you back now, at least for a while. That the fighting will probably be over before you could go back again."

She reaches for his hand across the table, entwining their fingers, and looks him straight in the eyes.

He's tired and she can see the sadness in him, and she feels just as worn out. There's nothing here and it might be that there's really not that much in the North either, but it's home. Maybe they can heal together, fill the voids with something that isn't death and disappointment and dread. 

"Come home with me."

"Alright." 


End file.
